


Child's Pose

by flashindie



Category: Good Girls (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, Gen, Yoga
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-24
Updated: 2019-05-24
Packaged: 2020-03-13 13:54:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18942334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flashindie/pseuds/flashindie
Summary: “Look, even before Jane took her closet vacation last week, you said the girls were upset you weren’t spending as much time with them, and you used to do this shit all the time before you Freaky-Friday’d Deansy. The class is free, it’s in the park, it’s on a Saturday morning, so it shouldn’t mess with like, work-work, or cr-”At Beth’s look, Annie lowers her voice, puts undue emphasis on the next few words, “Book clubwork. I don’t know. Look, somebody just shoved it in my mailbox, and I read it, and thought of you. It doesn’t have to be a thing.”-Set sometime between the end of 2.07 and the start of 2.08. Beth tries to reconnect with her daughters via yoga, Rio sees, snark and UST ensue.





	Child's Pose

It’s actually Annie who suggests it, digging the flyer out of her handbag, and dislodging an unwrapped throat lozenge that had somehow glued itself to the top. She thrusts it out in Beth’s general direction, waving it at her, as she paws through the rest of her bag with her free hand, searching for her car keys.

Beth blinks, leaning over to pluck the slip of glossy, crinkled paper from Annie’s outstretched hand, taking a sip of her coffee and digging her hip into the kitchen island as she looks it over. 

“Mommy & Me Yoga,” Beth reads aloud, voice deadpan, and raises both eyebrows in Annie’s direction. “You know I’m not your _actual_ mother, right?” 

The morning light shifts pleasantly through the kitchen, illuminating Annie’s bleached hair enough to almost cast the picture of a halo, and god, isn’t that ironic? It had been a surprise to see Annie trundle through Beth’s back door an hour ago, a moan in her voice as she’d told Beth about the new manager at Fine & Frugal and all the ways she’d blown _that_ first impression. 

(“He’s going to fire me,” Annie had said instantly. “Do you know who hires somebody who gets fired from a place like Fine & Frugal? Literally _nobody_. Maybe we could start one of those weird sex channels where we just iron shirts naked or something? Guys pay top dollar for that kinky, domestic shit.” 

“Why _we_? I _have_ a job,” Beth had replied, and she’d laughed in the instance of it, but grown uncomfortable when Rio’s words had echoed in the back of her head – _you’re a drug dealer_. She’d shaken her head to try and dislodge the sound of his voice.) 

“If only either of us were ever that lucky,” Annie tells her now, before letting loose a loud, “Ah-ha!” fishing out her keys and holding them up triumphantly. At Beth’s look, Annie rolls her eyes, pushing her own hip against the kitchen island, mirroring her sister’s pose, and folding her arms across her chest. 

“Look, even before Jane took her closet vacation last week, you said the girls were upset you weren’t spending as much time with them, and you used to do this shit all the time before you Freaky-Friday’d Deansy. The class is free, it’s in the park, it’s on a Saturday morning, so it shouldn’t mess with like, work-work, or cr-” 

At Beth’s look, Annie lowers her voice, puts undue emphasis on the next few words, “ _Book club_ work. I don’t know. Look, somebody just shoved it in my mailbox, and I read it, and thought of you. It doesn’t have to be a thing.”

“I’m not saying it’s a thing,” Beth says, dropping the flyer back to the island. She has another sip of coffee. She’s not, honestly, she’s just…She sighs, her shoulders sagging, something dragging down her bones. “I’m just really tired, Annie.” 

It’s all it takes for Annie to instantly soften, her forehead tugging down, lips frowning, and _stupid_ , Beth thinks, as Annie curls her hand around Beth’s arm. She’s supposed to look after _her_ , not the other way around. 

“I know, sis. Forget it. It was dumb. Weekends should be for sleeping anyway.”

*

And maybe they should be, but Beth spends the rest of the week turning it over in her head, the thought shooting up through the haze of her days whenever her lower back aches or her shoulders seize at work, whenever she gets home, the kids already asleep, her yearning fingers left to flutter like a ghost hand across their closed eyelids, and you know what? In a lot of ways, it’d be killing two birds with one stone.

It’s how she ends up here anyway, Saturday morning, with nine other mothers and about fifteen kids between them, moving through their sun salutations. It’s a good day for it at least, Beth thinks, clenching her legs together, her arms above her head, sweat just starting to dampen the band of her bra. 

The morning is otherwise bright around them, the day unusually warm for the season, enough to mouth humid kisses at her neck and curl her baby hairs there. Around her, she can hear kids playing, the wooden slap of a baseball bat, colliding with a ball, a dog barking. She breathes out a soft breath, moving down into her plank pose, adjusting her arms on the yoga mat atop the grass. 

“And when we’re ready, we’re dropping to our knees until we’re on all fours,” the instructor says, and Beth squares off her knees, her hands below her shoulders, watching Emma and Jane do the same beside her. It’s enough to make her grin, lifting off one hand, balancing her weight on the other, and reaching over Jane to tuck a loose chunk of Emma’s hair back into her braid. “And mommies, we’re all going to rise up into a cat pose, arching _up_. Can anyone here tell me what a cat sounds like?” 

In a tone-deaf chorus, the kids all start to meow and purr and hiss, and Beth laughs, arching her back hard into the pose, pushing her hips forwards beneath her, rocking back and forwards a little, stretching out her spine. Jane crawls forwards, rubbing against her arm like a kitten, mewing, and Beth leans sideways enough to scratch behind her ear, making her giggle, before Beth swoops in briefly to kiss her forehead.

“Great, now look at mommy, kids. Can you do that too?” 

And just like that, Emma and Jane put their backs up too, giggling, looking at Beth. Beth meows at them, and they both meow back. 

“Now we’re going to shapeshift,” the instructor coos from the front. “Into cow pose. Mommies, I want you to drop your bellies down towards the mat, lift your chins, raise your chests. Can anyone here tell me the sound that a cow makes?” 

And then there’s a chorus of moos, loud and loaded, as Beth drops her belly, thrusting her hips back out, rocking into them, lifting her chest, feeling the stretch down her front. It feels _good_ , and she honestly hadn’t realised how much she’d missed this, making a mental note to shout Annie a drink at their next girls’ night in thank you. 

“Now, we’re going to start towards our downward-facing dog, but first, what do we call a baby dog?” 

“A puppy!” Emma yells beside her, face flushed with excitement, and the instructor beams over at her. A few of the children in the class, including Jane, start barking unprompted.

“That’s right, a _puppy_ , so we’re going to start in puppy pose. You’re all on your hands and knees, I want you to lower your arms, and put your elbows where your hands are, and push your hands out in front, spreading those fingers wide. Then you’re going to take your legs back a little and lean your chest down, until you can get it as close to the ground as possible.”

Beth looks sideways, watching Emma and Jane collapse forwards onto the towels they’d brought in lieu of yoga mats (hell, Beth’s never quite been one of _those_ moms), wriggling in that limber, contortionist way that only kids can do. Beth’s always hated these sorts of exercises – loved them, but hated them – there’s certain limitations that come with having breasts her size, and any exercise involving getting anything north of her lower ribcage flat with the floor is certainly one of them. 

“And forwards,” the instructor says suddenly in her ear, and Beth blinks up at her. When had she gotten that close? 

“Oh, I-”

“Just arch your back into it,” the instructor says serenely, touching her hands together in a prayer pose. “Don’t be precious. This is about your spine and it’s about your spirit. Your forehead should be touching the mat, and you should be rocking your pelvis up to meet the sky.” 

Beth blanches a little, as the instructor guides her down, pushing at her shoulders, and finally she just thinks, screw it, leaning into it, letting her forehead hit the mat, her knees grinding into it too, her ass up, her breasts half-smashed into the earth. 

“See? You’re a natural,” the instructor breathes airily above her, stepping away, and Beth basically hates her, but also can’t deny that this feels better – the stretch in her back and her shoulders easing out the tension that comes with either being on her feet on the car floor all day or stuck in a driver’s seat outside of some drug den. 

“And we’re going to take a few breaths here, so just hold the position, making sure you relax the shoulders away from the ears.” 

Jane nuzzles in close again, and Beth smiles, small and soft, letting her daughter scramble gently against her side. She barks, and Beth barks back, just in that lower tone the dog would use at home, and it’s enough to make Jane gasp in excitement, giggling, rolling over on her mat to throw herself bodily into Emma’s side, knocking her sister over. 

“Ladies, we’re going to transition now into downward facing dog. Raise your forehead and chest off the mat, slowly, slowly, keep your pelvis’ _up_ though, please. Okay, when you’re ready, curl your toes under, lift your elbows and your knees, engaging your core, and then I want you to act like somebody is pulling you up by your tail, and I want you to straighten your arms and your legs – without locking your knees or elbows – and thrust those bottoms up to the sky.” 

All the kids giggle at the word bottoms, and Beth can’t help but grin as she pushes up, dropping her head down as the instructor starts to talk about pedalling the legs, and she looks out through her own parted thighs to the wide expanse of the park, seeing the flutter of insects, the racing bodies of children towards the playground, a yipping dog, barking down the path, and then _him_ , sitting on a picnic table, a too wide grin on his face, his gaze fixed, a little hotly, straight back at her, and Beth surges forwards, dropping her hips, straightening her body into rigidity, because _God no_ , not - - not here, not when she’s had her ass in the air for the better part of ten minutes, not when - - 

She blinks, _hard_. 

“Hips up, mommy,” the instructor says, trotting back over, and suddenly Beth has the woman’s hands on her hips, tugging them back, forcing her pelvis up again and Beth can’t help the way she looks back through her legs to see Rio again. He leans forwards a little on the table, as if to make sure she can see him, and, still grinning, waves. 

“And relax your shoulders,” she tells her, pushing a hand between Beth’s shoulder blades, and even with the distance between them, she can see Rio’s grin widen into something filthy. Or, well. Filthier, and suddenly she can smell the chemical cleaner and stale beer of that bar bathroom, and it’s his hand on her - - 

No. 

Nope.

She’s _not_ doing that.

She drops her gaze back to her hands, and the yoga instructor lets her go, wandering off to another mother, but not before adding, “And we’re pedalling our legs, we’re pedalling, we’re pedalling.” 

And Beth clenches her eyes shut, trying to think of what gets her out of this situation in the least embarrassing way, but the girls are still laughing beside her, Jane suddenly wriggling to lie sideways below the archway Beth’s making with her body, and she’s smiling, so, so wide. 

“Mommy, are you a house?” 

“Am I a house?” Beth echoes back, the words jarring her into the moment, and Jane wrinkles her nose, but she’s still grinning, a little bashful. 

“Yeah,” Emma says, scrambling below Beth’s arched body beside her sister. “Kenzlie at school says we lived in you.” 

“You did,” Beth agrees, nodding. “So maybe I was a house for a while.” 

“Like this?” Jane says, reaching up, her little fingers gripping in the fabric of Beth’s shirt, and Beth grins down at them and then, suddenly, drops halfway, enough that the girls yelp in excitement and terror, their laughter echoing throughout the class. She pushes back up into the correct position, watching the girls giggle below her, a grin on her own face, and she just - - she can’t help but chase a look to Rio again, still on top of that picnic table, and maybe the heat is still there a little – always is – but it’s dampened by something almost softer. 

It’s enough to make her look sharply away, down at her hands again, resisting the urge to roll out her wrists. She’s only seen him once since Jane was missing, since she opened that package with the dubby, and neither of them had acknowledged what had happened, just talked about the next drop while the _thank you_ , while the _why_ , felt like it was burning a hole through her tongue. But she _couldn’t_ say it, didn’t know _how_ to say it, not to him, and she’d left that meeting with a heavy chest and a headache because god, she’d wanted to – but – but maybe _he_ didn’t, and she just - - she’s just so tired. 

“Okay, mommies, now we’re going to slide onto our bellies and then up through to baby cobra. Who here can tell me what noise a _snake_ makes?”

*

There’s only another fifteen minutes before the class is over, and Beth spends most of it studiously trying to forget that Rio’s there. There aren’t too many chances to glance over anyway, so she distracts herself with the girls and tries to pretend like maybe she’d imagined it, or hell, maybe he’d gotten bored and head off (like he’d ever leave before getting what he came for). She can hear the lie in her own thoughts, so it’s not exactly a surprise when they finally lie down for five minutes meditation at the end, and Beth peels open her eyes, turns her head to find him still there on the table, leaning forwards, elbow on his knee and chin in his hand. She rolls her eyes enough that he can see, and she can see it too – the way he sinks his chin a little deeper into his hand to hide what she knows is a laugh.

“And when you feel ready, let’s all rise and sit back up,” the instructor trills from the front of the class as the kids start to bustle with energy again. When everyone’s sitting up, she pushes her hands together, “I hope your day is full of positive energy and that you are able to imbue that positivity and that calm and that _goodness_ into _all_ your interactions. Be at one with your breath, be at one with your spirit, be at one with yourself. Namaste.” 

Beth rolls her eyes but echoes the chorus of _namaste_ coming from across the class, clambering to her feet and rolling up her yoga mat, watching as Emma and Jane do it with their towels. 

“Wasn’t that fun?” Beth says, her voice soft, and Emma nods almost too sweetly, too happily (and god, she was really feeling Beth’s absence too, wasn’t she?), while Jane starts loudly barking, running around Beth’s feet on her hands and knees like a dog, and yeah, she’s already preparing herself for at least a few days of that. Beth grabs her purse, pulling out a ten-dollar bill, passing it to Emma, and tilting her head towards the ice-cream truck parked not ten feet away. “Why don’t you girls go get yourself a treat? Mommy just saw someone she needs to say hi to.” 

The girls nod, racing off, and Beth steels her breath, turning on her heel to where Rio is still sitting on the picnic table. She pushes her yoga mat up below her arm, her purse over her shoulder, grabs the girls’ towels and strides across the short distance towards him, trying to ignore the way he seems to casually lean back, something oddly pleased in the languid line of him. 

And she should be calm, right? Hell, she literally _just_ got out of (albeit, interrupted) meditating, but she can’t help the way she’s bristling when she stops directly in front of him. The buzz of the playground, of the kids and their mothers behind her like a constant, nagging hum.

“What are you doing here?” she hisses, and Rio just looks at her, trying – badly – to smother his grin. He shrugs, tearing his gaze away from her to watch Emma and Jane bound over to join the line for ice cream. 

“You weren’t answering your phone.” 

And she’d heard it, buzzing in her purse as they’d started the class, but had assumed it was Dean, and figured it could wait. She huffs a little, shifting her weight between her feet. 

“It’s the weekend, I’m with my family.” 

“Oh, sorry, darlin’, I didn’t realise you’d punched out.” 

It’s enough to make her roll her eyes again, lowering the yoga mat to prop it against the picnic table as she takes a seat on the bench, facing out to watch the girls giggle in the ice-cream line. She’s vaguely aware that like this, he has a pretty good angle down her purple tank top, but then between the tight cut of it, and her yoga leggings, she’s not exactly leaving much to the imagination anyway. Still - she resists the urge to fidget. 

“Besides,” his voice drawls out, tone loaded, cutting through her thoughts. “You can be _flexible_ , can’t you?” 

He’s got to see it, the way the back of her neck reddens – something that must be too visible with her hair tied up like this, and she resists the urge to turn around and hit him. 

“How’d you even know I was here?” she asks, changing the subject, and Rio just huffs out a laugh, amused. 

“Yeah, you don’t go to that many places,” he says, and it might be true, but it doesn’t explain how he always seems to know exactly where she is, how he knows the ins and outs of her schedule, everything planned, unplanned, organised or not. She’s fairly sure that he’s hacked her phone or something at this point, or has put something on her car, and she can’t really explain why since that night with the dubby that that’s felt more a source of comfort than one of irritation or invasion.

She doesn’t dignify him with a response, and it’s at least enough to make him barrel on to the point. 

“We have a new drop tonight. It’s last minute, but they’re payin’ for that. Two cars, so you’ll have to get one of your lady friends to help.” 

He pulls a slip of paper out of his shirt pocket, passing it over to her, and she squints, trying to untangle the VIN numbers and the address from his too-familiar chicken scratch. She gets it though, and at least the drop off point isn’t too far from town. It’ll take maybe an hour to do the round trip, and she folds it, slipping it into her bra. 

“Fine. Is that all?” 

The bench beside her suddenly sags, and she blinks over, surprised to find that he’s slipped off the table to sit beside her, close enough that she can feel his arm, all corded muscle below his shirt as it rubs against her own bare arm. The heat through it makes her breath catch, holds it somehow, and Beth trains her gaze out on her daughters, edging up the line towards the ice-cream truck. 

“This new?” Rio asks suddenly, and the words are such a surprise that Beth blinks, jerking around to look at him.

“What?” 

He just nods his head forwards to the park, where some of the moms are still packing up their yoga mats, tying the laces on their children’s sneakers. The yoga instructor is still at the end, ridiculously lean and fit, her cropped hair silver in the morning light as she talks to a woman about doing a better crane pose. 

“Why? You got a thing for yoga pants?” 

It’s enough to make him laugh, a little huskier than she expects, which only serves to make her squint at him. There’s something there, in the edges of his expression – she can see it – knows him well enough to at least know _this_ , the way the skin beside his eye’s wrinkles with amusement, the corners of his lips rising with intent, and just - - 

“No,” she says.

“No what?” 

“No, it’s not new. I mean this class is, but the yoga’s not,” she says, and then, because like she said, she _knows him_ : “And no, you’re not invited.” 

“Park’s a public space,” he hums, unfazed by her reply, and Beth rolls her eyes for what feels like the umpteenth time gaze falling on her daughters, now at the front of the ice cream line. 

“Sure,” she agrees, voice dry. “But you sitting watching a bunch of women and little kids in leggings while they make animal noises is going to make someone call the police. I know a lot of these other women probably look like an opportunity to you, but trust me, most of them are married, and a lot of them carry pepper spray, so, you should probably - - ” 

“Yeah, I ain’t lookin’ at the other women.” 

And it’s so quick, so clear that Beth’s breath catches, and she looks at him again, at where he’s staring back at her, something too honest in his expression, almost naked, and she thinks maybe this is it - - maybe this is when she says thank you, maybe this is when she asks him why – her daughter’s blanket, just - - tell her she’s not making this up - - and she almost does when his grin only deepens, springs a little lecherous, while his voice takes on an almost careless tone. 

“We could always do it without ‘em, if you’re so worried,” he says instead. “Your backyard, you could send the kids off somewhere with that dumbass husband of yours,” he laughs a little to himself. “You could show me what’s feelin’ a little tight. How you loosen all that body up.” 

He pops the ‘p’ a little, and god, how is he this close? How has he suddenly got a thigh pressed against hers as well as his arm, and she just - - she shivers, and he must feel it if the way his smirk turns primal is anything to go by, and just - - 

“Mommy!” 

Jane collapses forwards onto her lap, quick as anything, pushing half an ice cream cone into Beth’s belly, and Beth gasps at the sudden cold of it. 

“ _Jane_ ,” she groans, and her daughter just blinks wide eyed at her, leaning over to lick the ice cream off Beth’s shirt, and just - - God, no. She grabs her, standing up enough to lift her and hook her over a hip and rifling through her bag for a tissue with her free hand. She wipes the ice cream off her shirt as Emma bustles over to her other side, a handful of change offered up in her little hand. 

And right, Beth thinks, looking at Rio, still on the bench, still watching her, and just. 

Right. 

“I’ll do the drop tonight,” she says, and Rio just keeps _looking_ at her, grin wide, like he’s still thinking something filthy, but also - - also maybe not filthy, just _thinking_ , and finally he nods, getting to his feet, standing a little too closely as he moves around her, dragging one hand across her ass and ruffling Jane’s hair with the other before striding back out across the park. 

And so what if she watches his figure disappear? It doesn’t _mean_ anything. So what if maybe he notices, turning, when he’s almost out of sight, his features blurred enough by distance but – but somehow she can still see it. 

That grin. 

Almost like a promise.


End file.
